


Your Guardian Devil

by StarlightHawke



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, F/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:05:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightHawke/pseuds/StarlightHawke
Summary: My piece for the Saeran zine! It takes place in a post-apocalyptic world. Enjoy!





	Your Guardian Devil

Gravel crunches beneath the worn boots of an unknown figure as he makes his way along the path, sunlight glinting like fire in his unruly white hair.  Typically he tries to stick to the grassier areas, weaving through trees and broken down buildings long since abandoned, occasionally doubling back on himself to make sure no tricksters or imposters find their way to his destination: home. A well-kept secret from the outside world, home was a hidden oasis in a desert of sin and pain even before the electromagnetic pulse bombs rocked the world and the plagues swept through. Now most major dangers have passed as the entire world tries to rebuild, but they choose to remain hidden. Losing technology hit hard, affecting the production of their blessed elixir but the community rose to overcome the hardships and Magenta was reborn anew, more beautiful and alive than before.

He’ll do anything to protect his home.

The strap of his ragged bag digs into the flesh between his neck and shoulder but he doesn’t alleviate the pain; not only does it keep him alert, but there isn’t much he  _ can _ do. The padded portion had ripped off years ago when he’d been dodging through a dilapidated building to avoid bullets, caught on a jagged piece of metal that not only sliced clean through the pad and strap but gave him quite a nasty gash. It’s one scar he regards with an almost fond indifference, the mission itself a personal one the Savior had blessed him with.

It had been messy and more than a little dangerous, but worth it in his opinion. One less corrupt politician in a world where different factions are competing to take over what had once been the country of South Korea. Personal agendas aside, the commonwealth owed him their most sincere gratitude, whether or not they realized it.

This particular time he’s been absent for a few weeks, making his way from settlement to settlement to suss out any information about the current state of affairs. Even without a keyboard and the world wide web at the tip of his fingers, his job remains to gather intelligence to help keep Mint Eye safe from outside threats, as well as suggest connections for recruiters to look into. The length of his excursions vary depending on what he finds, forced to follow each lead as far as he can.

Regardless, he’s always ready to go home. Exhausted in every form of the word and feeling like the entirety of his body is one exposed nerve, he needs the respite that only comes from the sanctuary of Magenta and the healing of the elixir. To wash away the contamination of the sinners so it doesn’t fester in his mind like an infection in an open wound. The longer he’s away, the weaker he becomes. Susceptible to the memories of an older version of himself, to dreams presenting themselves as the truth despite the fact that they go against the only person he’s ever trusted. But no, he’s stronger than that. He  _ is _ the strongest, and he will  _ always _ be the strongest.

A figure appears over the next hill, dark against the angry glare of the setting sun. Another sole traveler like himself; a rather rare sight these days, considering the groups of bandits and thugs that roam the open roads hoping to take advantage of passersby. Although moving fast, alone the person is not a threat. But he bristles as one, two,  _ three _ more heads come into view mere moments after. How irritating. The likelihood of him being able to step off into the grass and ignore the probable scuffle is low. Even  _ if _ he doesn’t end up being used as a shield by the runner, the group following may decide he looks like easy prey.

A fatal mistake, but one that has been made before. Yet another reason he usually keeps to backroads.

With a low growl, he runs a calloused hand through his already filthy hair, his other one patting the pocket he keeps his pocket knife in. Smaller than what most travel with and less threatening than a gun, it is the weapon he’s chosen to keep to because he’s meticulous about having full control over what happens. Plus he’s learned quite well how to evade oncoming attacks, specifically from brutes who think just because they’re big means they’re top dog. It’s always rather glorious to show them how mistaken they truly are.

Ah, the runner is female, and she is nearly close enough for him to make out the features of her face. Her hair is secured so as not to drop into her eyes, her outfit dirty but sensible - and, from the looks of it, mildly armored. The only thing he has any cause to raise an eyebrow at is the jacket she sports, dangling from where it’s tied around her waist and almost reduced to scrap. A black and yellow atrocity that tugs at the recesses of his memory, though it’s too torn to discern much else from it.

Why does seeing it give him this complicated emotion he can’t explain…?

A sharp yelp causes his eyes to flick from the destroyed hoodie to her face and he exhales harshly, eyes widening because it’s _ you, _ and he hasn’t seen neither hide nor hair of you or the RFA since everything happened all those years ago.

The world around him slows to a standstill, breath caught in his throat as he traces the remains of yellow circles with his gaze. That jacket, looped around your waist and in shreds, it’s…

His past come back to haunt him.

A mission never completed, revenge never executed, people never saved.

And yet.

This is a chance. A golden opportunity to bring at least  _ one _ member of the RFA to paradise. Maybe if he does then the disgusting feeling of something being left unresolved will leave him be, and he can take the next step forward in his faith. Even if it’s  _ just you,  _ just someone who equates to a pawn for him to move when he chooses, it’s a person essential to the group that had caused both him and his Savior so much grief all those years ago.

You’ve fallen to the ground, hands and feet scrabbling to find purchase to get yourself moving again but if the expression of pain on your face is any indication, that won’t be happening soon. At least, not on your own.

Lucky for you he’s here, still willing to come to your rescue long after you’ve forgotten about the Unknown hacker who had so delicately placed you in the web of lies known as the RFA.

It takes a fair few moments for his brain to come back online, a force shutdown having occurred to rid himself of the potential virus that sole piece of clothing could install. He watches your fingers claw desperately at the ground in slow motion, blinking past the memory of numbers and text that once could’ve been his undoing. Your eyes meet his, shimmering and filled with a panic that wrenches him out of his stupor. Adrenaline surges through his body like a lightning bolt as he first resumes walking, shifting into running as your pursuers begin to close in. You turn your face, one hand coming up to guard it as he approaches, the gravel kicked up in his haste flying haphazardly in every direction. The bag falls to the ground near you and he grips his knife, flicking it open as he skids to a halt between you and the ruffians. Muscles pulled tight in a snarl, he narrows his eyes and points the knife in their direction, other hand quickly working at a small pouch he keeps attached to his belt.

A group of three isn’t worrisome to him unless they’re ex-military or trained in some other fashion; he’s found that while most opponents think they’re big and bad, they’re actually unable to hold their own in a fight that isn’t about pure brute strength. He’s strong  _ and _ fast, possessing the knowledge and ability to exploit his enemies’ weaknesses with as little effort as possible.

The company slows down, swaggering up to him in a manner that is no doubt intended to strike fear into his heart. Unfortunately for them, he’s long since killed any part of his heart that could fear.

“Hand over the girl and we’ll let you go without trouble,” says a man with unkempt hair, like the fur of a wild dog but with none of the beauty. A scar slashes across his face from left temple to just beyond the tip of his nose, one eye milky while the other casts an overconfident glance at you behind him. “There’s no need for you to die today.”

A snicker breaks free even as fingers dip into the slimy substance in the pouch, green eyes dancing in an amusement that belies the severe expression he regards the enemies with. “I’m not the one who should be worried about dying. Only idiots give their opponents time to reach for items they can’t identify.” The fight is over before it’s even truly begun and he’s already won, the concoction flying through the air to splat into dog-man’s good eye. A howl worthy of such a nickname peals from his throat and calloused hands claw at the scarred face, trying to clear away the substance but it’s too little too late. Another handful is loosed before the others have a chance to react, the explosion of a light grenade managing to disorient the third.

Pulling his mask back down, he wipes his hand off on his jeans and throws the knife, maniacal grin pairing with crazed laughter when he hits his mark. They never stood a chance, not against someone like him. Nonetheless, he needs to move before their anger becomes a threat. Down goes a smoke bomb and then he’s picking both you and his bag up, slinging the two of you over his shoulder haphazardly. Fists beat against his back as you struggle, no doubt frightened about what this new stranger intends to do with you but he couldn’t care less. Beat him, bruise him, scream until your throat is raw, it makes no difference. You have but one destination at this point: paradise. He’d once considered making you his assistant. Maybe it’s still a possibility.

-oOo-

“Where are you taking me?”

Hours have passed when he sets you down on the edge of a hill, pulling out a canteen and taking a long, well-deserved swig of disgustingly warm water. Despite your initial resistance, you’d calmed down quickly, constantly trying to start conversation even though he never once answered. Maybe you share the same sense of familiarity he does, or maybe you’re simply defeated. Regardless as you stand there on trembling legs, staring out at the forest you’re descending into, you don’t attempt to bolt.

Only once he’s had his fill of water does he step up next to you and shove the bottle into your chest. You look up at him in surprise, doing a double, then a triple take when your eyes lock, one hand reaching down to grasp the sleeve of that torn hoodie. The corner of his lips curl up and his eyes narrow, watching your pale face somehow whiten further. “Circumstances interfered but I’m finally going to deliver you to the paradise I promised you all those years ago.”

“You… you’re…” Fear flashes through your eyes, only his quick reflexes saving the flask from hitting the ground. He watches your larynx bob, your body stiffen. “Unknown…”

“In the flesh.” Your entire body flinches as he gives you a toothy grin, capping the bottle and shoving it back in his bag. “You’re mine now, princess. Just like you were supposed to be from the very beginning.”


End file.
